


by any other name

by embalmers



Category: Final Fantasy IV: The After Years
Genre: Gen, you can read kain/ceodore into this if you want but for once its not intended as a shippy fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:01:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23416423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embalmers/pseuds/embalmers
Summary: This was a remote town, no one knew that he was a prince, let alone one related to the king and queen of Baron. No one would stop him from buying them here. No one would stop him from using them.“How much for the lance?”
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	by any other name

“Prince Ceodore, what an honour! To have the son of the great King Cecil and Queen Rosa shop at my humble stall.”

Used to the incessant words of praise, he decided to tune it out. It wasn’t anything that he hadn’t heard before, and it wasn’t to be rude. Just a far fetched wish to be treated the same as any other person, regardless of who his parents might be.

The thing that had made him come to a stop and venture over in the first place was the array of lances and spears on display. Again, a far fetched wish, to follow in any other footsteps other than his parents but he’d take whatever he could get. What could he say except that the way mother and father spoke about the Dragoon Kain inspired him a little?

“How much for one of the lances?” he asked politely. The shop keep blinked unexpectedly, Ceodore noticing the way his cheerful smile faltered slightly. 

“Now, why would you want those, young prince? I assure you the selection of swords we have is far better suited to you and King Cecil’s style of fighting.”

Suppressing a sigh, his eyes drifted from the man and back to the weapons on display tiredly. He could push if he wanted to. Remind him who he was the son of and threaten what could happen if they didn’t give him what he wanted. If he wanted to.

The thought of doing so didn’t sit right with him though. There wasn’t anything worse he could think of than using his blood to get what he wanted, not lifting a finger to do something himself and only relying on that.

And what would be the point? Father didn’t let him train in anything but his own style anyway. The shop keep was right.

“No it’s fine. Thanks anyway.”

Ceodore walked away.

“Hiding away in here again?”

Tearing himself away from the page, he looked up at his mother’s arrival in the doorway.

“It’s the best I can get to the real thing.”

He went back to scanning the pages. It was a sweet escape, retreating to the castle’s reading room, picking out a number of books detailing black magic, lances, archery, anything he could find that was different from what father and his other teachers were drilling into him. 

The smell of perfume invaded his senses as he saw out of the corner of his vision, his mother’s strawberry blonde hair hanging down and seating herself next to him. He hadn’t really spoken to her about it that much, but she knew. He could tell. Ceodore had been scared the first time she had found him reading about black magic and was scared she’d tell father but was pleasantly surprised when it was never mentioned. Nor the next time or time after that. Their little secret perhaps.

“Spears and lances today? Was Cecil talking about Kain today then?” she mused, amusement in her tone.

Nodding, he placed the book between them so she didn’t have to lean over so much. The perfume was too strong for him.

“What was it last time, black magic? You’re becoming quite the little compendium of knowledge.”

“Knowledge but never practise mother,” he responded quietly.

Regretting it immediately, turned away from her. It wasn’t like it was her fault.

The silence sat between them for a while. His eyes were drawn to the fluttering of the silk curtains by the open window for lack of anything else to focus on.

“It won’t always be like this Ceodore,” he couldn’t help but make a scoffing sound, one that his mother caught and nudged him sharply for in response.

“Not now but maybe one day you might go on an adventure of your own, hopefully less life threatening and high risk as the one me and your father went on. You can be free to practise and learn whatever you want to.”

She always made him feel at ease, even if there was no outcome given at the present. It was reassuring though. She understood.

“Thanks.”

Gloved hands ruffled his hair softly.

“In the meantime, I could teach you some white magic. Our little secret?”

“Yes please!”

“Ceodore!”

Landing on the ground shakily, he braced himself for the onslaught of insults and outrage to come. The ringing from such an extreme landing wasn't helping.

“What was that?! What are you thinking?!”

Maybe he’d gotten too confident, thinking he could just put into practise what he’d been researching. Given himself a bit too much hope that people might be proud of him from diverging from the shadow that his parents cast upon him, enclosing him in.

“A jump, sir,” he managed to squeak out in between breaths. “Like the Dragoons…”

One thing was understanding the theory behind it but putting it into motion an entirely different matter. It didn’t help he hadn’t trained in the slightest like a Dragoon, his body was entirely the wrong shape for it. Now he was paying the price; his knees felt like they were going to shatter.

...But it was so worth it.

“Like a Dragoon?! Like a Dragoon, boy?! In case you haven’t noticed, you’re no Dragoon!”

Here it came.

“You are the son of King Cecil and Queen Rosa! You’ve got the most powerful Paladin and white mage’s blood in your body and this is what you’re doing? Trying to imitate a Dragoon, a sorry excuse of one at best. Have you no pride in your bloodline?”

Biting his lip, resisting the urge to scream from the top of his lungs that he longed to be born to any other bloodline. He was sure countless would trade places with him in a heartbeat and he’d gladly accept that trade.

And the guilt took over. He was acting like a brat.

“Well?! Answer me boy!”

“No, sir. I have great respect for my parents. I apologise,” Ceodore managed to respond with. Satisfactory. Resigned.

“Hmph. You better be. Prove it to me by sparring _properly_ this time.”

He really was a fool for thinking there might be a different path for him, one he could forge himself without the weight of expectations leading him down another. Body going through the motions, he settled back into a swordsman’s stance, not a sorry excuse of a Dragoon, and fell back into place.

Things had changed drastically and now Ceodore did not have the luxury of worrying about fitting into his parent’s shadow when they were nowhere to be found. He’d been expecting to come home, see his father be proud of him and his mother smile lovingly at his safe return. Instead, the castle was empty with no trace of his parents and Baron soldiers hunting him down. Biggs and Wedge were dead and it was because of him.

All he wanted was things back to normal. He’d never step outside of the boundaries of what was expected of him again if he could have them all reunited. But things weren’t that simple, he had to grow up and face reality.

The stranger who was accompanying and helping him acted more like a leader than he was, that he should be right now. Knew far more than him, knew which way to go to escape from the chase the soldiers never gave up on. It was inspiring yet infuriating. He tried to crush that feeling of jealousy and instead try to learn from it. Use this time free from anyone pressuring him, to carve his own mark just like his mother had said. Maybe he could finally put into practise all the information he’d stored away thinking he’d never get to use, that had just kept him satisfied before.

It was when they were stocking up on supplies that his eyes landed on the spears and lances behind the counter. This was a remote town, no one knew that he was a prince, let alone one related to the king and queen of Baron. No one would stop him from buying them here. No one would stop him from using them. 

“How much for the lance?”

The hooded man he was travelling with was always insistent they take regular breaks, constantly keeping an eye out for when Ceodore looked tired. It was thoughtful but he couldn’t help but feel like he was slowing the other down.

It’s why he started practising with the lance whenever he could during downtime. Sharp indigo eyes watched as he swung it several times, getting used to the weight, then lunging with it. He didn’t say anything while he trained but later when they both sat at the tent, decided to voice his opinion on the matter.

“Learning a new weapon takes time. You’re not going to be skilled at it and you’ll make mistakes, it’s inevitable.”

There was nothing to be debated so he stayed silent. He hadn’t spent much time with the man, but he was so full of wisdom and truth that most of the time Ceodore could only agree like a mindless follower. 

“Think about what that means. We’re on the run. One mistake and it could be our lives.”

Looking down at his palms. they were gripped onto the lance desperately. He’d been stupid, yet again, thinking that this was the time and place to fulfil this stupid indulgence of his. How could he even be doing such things when he didn’t know if his father and mother were okay?

“I understand.”

“I wasn’t finished,” his voice cut through.

Ceodore knew what was to come. More discouragement.

“It’s always good to have versatility.”

“Huh?” was the only response he could get out.

“You don’t know what situation you’ll end up in. We could end up in one that your sword and style of fighting is useless in and need to adapt. If you don’t have a backup, it’s hard,” he explained.

Ceodore was openly gaping at him but had no shame. Was someone really encouraging him to pursue what he wanted? To try out something different, not comparing him to his parents as soon as the opportunity arose?

“Does that mean-”

“When we get a bit of time, I’ll help you practise. You better keep up,” he finished quickly. There was a slight smile on his face and Ceodore could feel the beaming one on his own in return.

“Yes sir!”

**Author's Note:**

> ceodore being better in the back row as either a healer, support or bow and arrow user is what inspired this fic lol. also while i was watching a playthrough of this game, the commentator kept joking that ceodore didnt want to be a paladin like his dad he actually wanted to be a dragoon or dark knight and then i saw one of the bands that kain and ceodore have called double jump.... so here's all that put in a blender, taken seriously and mashed into a fic lol  
> im using self isolation/quarantine to work through all the ff games i have in my backlog. nobody told me ff4+tay had so much cuck love triangle drama, i would have gotten into it sooner
> 
> i dont have anyone checking for spelling/grammar errors so sorry if there are any!  
> thanks for reading


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